Strangers in a Strange Land
by Srelex
Summary: The Colonial fleet is transported into the Star Wars galaxy, and is quickly wiped out by an Imperial patrol. One small group of survivors must learn to fit in and try and survive in this hostile new galaxy.
1. Chapter I: The DeathShip

"Commander, sensors read negative. We are maintaining position."

Hanging in space, the _Fist of Superiority XI, _one of the Empire's unstoppable Imperial-class star destroyer, sat in a cold patch of space, with nothing around for hundreds of millions of miles. The 1600-meter long starship, armed with rows of turbolasers, ion cannons, and missile tubes, was capable of obliterating an entire planetary surface if it focused its power output to weapons. It was loaded with squadrons of nimble TIE fighters and enough armor and infantry battalions to keep a small planetoid under check. As most in the galaxy would agree, it was not to be kriffed with.

This did not explain to captain Rammstein, however, why the Empire had assigned him to this godforsaken patch of space in the Outer Rim. Supposedly, there had been several gravitational space-time anomalies, or some other technobabble that they had spouted at him to keep him confused. He had heard from the previous captain that some strange vessels had been sighted in the area—once, a strange ship with saucer elements that had been easily destroyed when it had refused to answer hails—but quite frankly, given the level of smuggling in this region, he doubted it.

"Continue sweeps." He sighed. Everyone in the bridge was bored out of their minds, and the fact that the coffee machine had broken down wasn't helping. Gazing out of the viewports, at the infinite expanse of stars and nebulae, he just wondered what sort of contribution he'd make to this life.

"Sir!" One of the crewmen sat up. "Picking up heavy concentration of tachyons and dark matter, 3 kilometers straight ahead!"

Rammstein tensed. "Raise shields! Full alert!" He loved saying that. Finally, something was happening. Would this turn out to be worth a medal? Promotion to Moff, maybe even?

Up ahead, a purple cloud was materializing. He stood alert as rows of dark shapes emerged—ships of some kind, clearly. So the guys back at briefing hadn't been messing with him after all.

"We have incoming vessels, sir. I count a few dozen so far."

"Wow, I never guessed. Type? Capabilities?"

"Unidentified type, although the lead one is clearly designed for combat of some kind. I'm not detecting any evidence of shields, turbolasers, or hyperdrive of any kind."

"Curious. Hail them."

"Affirmative."

He watched as more ugly vessels emerged from the purple cloud. God, those things looked Corellian bulk cruisers look like works of art. He could visibly see the lead ship, which vaguely resembled a blockade runner—but streamlined, and in its way, more sexier. Not a bad-looking thing, despite clearly being a piece of junk technologically.

"Sir, they're not responding, though we are picking up scrambled radio signals." Reported a crewman at the comms console.

"Fire two ion bursts across their bow. Show them we're serious." Snapped Rammstein.

The crew complied. There was a flash as two bolts of energy streaked past the lead vessel of this mysterious fleet, with the cloud now fading away. Still the ships came on coming. Then, incoming alerts began beeping as the lead vessel fired off a volley of missiles.

"Incoming weapons!" cried a crewman.

"Identify type!"

"Primitive nuclear weapons, sir. They won't even dent our shields." Rammstein relaxed, and stood calmly as the ship juddered slightly as the missiles harmlessly impacted against their shields. The ship continued firing desperately, letting off primitive projectiles of all kinds, all of which merely caused the shield to weaken by a small percentage.

"So, they wanna play rough?" he smiled. "Forward batteries, maximum power. Aim, and let rip." Two turbolaser batteries swivelled in the direction of the main ship. Rammstein felt a brief feeling of regret. He'd have liked to have known where it came from, and who built it. But, it had just committed a hostile act against the Empire, and nobody was getting away with that.

The two turbolasers fired. Each shot had a power in the hundreds of gigatons. The other vessel didn't even have shields. He smiled with satisfaction as they impacted into the vessel, instantly pulverizing it. The other bolts carried on, slamming into the other vessels which blew apart with similar ease.

Rammstein chuckled. "Continue firing. Destroy them all."

"Affirmative." All guns of the Star Destroyer opened fire, tearing apart the vessels of the fleet with impunity. Torpedoes and ion cannons were added into the mix, with identical destructive effects. Within moments, the fleet was reduced to a cloud of scorched debris.

"Inform base." He called. "Enemy fleet of unknown origin has been located and destroyed. We're coming home for debriefing." Soon afterwards, the huge vessel was swivelling around and heading into hyperspace, leaving the atomized remnants of the fleet behind.

**

Flying away from the cloud of debris that had been their home, six people had crammed into one Raptor, jetting away into unknown and empty space. What was left of the Colonials had been wiped out. Adama, Starbuck, Roslin...all dead. Just like that. That demon ship, that huge frakking death-bringing chunk of metal, had wiped them all out. They had nowhere to go to. They had nothing left to hope or dream about. Most of them were crying. One was vomiting. And the guns in their holsters were looking real tempting.

Then, up ahead, came one sliver of hope. A orange, desert world—with a satellite of some kind hovering over it—evidence of intelligent life. They had no idea where they were going. They had no idea what to expect. But they had no choice.

Streaking forward, the Raptor approached the orange world, with its occupants having no idea of what the future held for them.

**Authors Note: **No, I wasn't making shit up with that ISD weapons output. Just type in Acclamator-class cruiser into Wookieepedia to see that even light ships in SW throw around literal gigaton firepower. Just mean this as a little take that against those who think that BSG ships could stand up to SW ones. ;)


	2. Chapter II: Customs

Perseus Jonah, native of Caprica and Raptor pilot of the Colonial Fleet, tried to make his mind drift as the small craft approached the dusty planet filling his field of vision. He tried to ignore the sobbing and the bubbling of the ones behind him. He tried to focus on the controls, rather than the sobering realization that potentially he and the five other people with him were the only humans left in the universe. Of course, now it was obvious that there were other sentient life forms out there—gods, would things have gone so much better had it not been so—but for all he knew it could be as far away from humans as humans are from bacteria.

"Godsdammit!" It was Thescera, a security officer from the Galactica, sobbing like a baby behind him. "Pass me the frakking gun! Now!"

"Hell no!" That would be Samuel, the dark-skinned maintenance guy, trying to make her get a grip. "Get your damn head straight, woman! Long as we're still alive, the Colonies live on!"

"You know you don't believe the crap you're spouting." Growled Kidas, the computer tech from Virgon. "Only reason we haven't blown our brains out is 'cause we're too damn cowardly. We're frakked. If that frakkin' death-ship totalled the entire fleet by itself and fired at us for no reason, what chance do you think we have?"

Anya and Gero, the two auxiliary Viper pilots who were sitting in the back, remained silent, looking as if they were about to vomit. As the Raptor skimmed the outer fringes of this planet's atmosphere, Perseus thought about the events of the last few hours. Not that long ago, they had been cruising through space as normal when lights had begun to fail on the Galactica, and people had begun reporting headaches and fevers. Baltar had been on the bridge, talking to Adama in technobabble, about dark matter concentrations and tachyon fluctuations, or something to that effect. Not that long after, reports had been coming in that the colonial fleet was being pulled towards an immensely strong gravitational well in a nearby dust cloud—from what Baltar had been able to extrapolate and from what Perseus had been able to overhear, it was some sort of dark-matter based indentation in the fabric of space-time—or something like that, physics was not exactly his thing. A wormhole, it had almost sounded like.

He had panicked, along with the others, and they had managed to get out in a Raptor as the fleet was pulled into a strange purple swirly thing, them with it, and straight into the lap of that death-ship. Now, he was going to forget that the last humans in the universe were sharing the same small space as him. He would forget that their chances of survival were slim. All he was going to focus on was retaining the small scraps of hope he had left. Without hope, he was frakked, for hope was all he had left beyond his clothes and the holstered automatic machine pistol on his belt.

A light beeped on the dashboard before him as they began to enter the atmosphere. According to the readouts, the craft was being bombarded with particles of various kinds, including radio. He activated his headset, and waited for the garbled static to transit into something comprehensible.

"..._current course. I repeat, unidentified craft, you will be locked on by a tractor beam in sixty seconds and be transferred to a customs post for search and inspection. You will not deviate from your current course." _ A voice. In Colonial, no less. Sounded a bit like Baltar's accent. His heart leapt as suddenly hope, real tangible hope, returned to him.

"Guys!" he cried out, grinning. "Listen to this!"

He flicked a switch and a recording of the message was played out of the speakers in the Raptor. For a moment, there was silence.

"Whoah." Gasped Samuel. "So...we've made first contact, and they just happen to speak Colonial? That's kinda too good to be true."

"Well, maybe..." The Raptor juddered as it began to descend at a sharper angle. Perseus pulled the throttle up, but it didn't respond.

"What the frak's happening?" cried Anya. "Perseus! Pull this damn tub up!"

"I'm trying, but she ain't listening!" The hull of the Raptor glowed orange as it descended rapidly through the atmosphere, juddering worryingly. Perseus mentally uttered a prayer, hoping that the techs at the Galactica had been paying attention the last time this thing had a maintenance check. A deep, muffled clang came from somewhere, and he closed his eyes, just waiting for the whole thing to be over. Damned if he was going to go down burning up in an atmosphere because of some loose screws.

The roaring of wind, engines and frantic beeping of alarms drowned the whimpering and crying of the people in the interior as it finally began to pass clouds, with the altimeter spinning wildly. Gritting his teeth, he felt his stomach churn, hoping that the breakfast he had eaten in the mess that morning wouldn't leave him. Moments later, the adrenaline flowing through his body began to cease as the Raptor decelerated and levelled out. Peering through the viewport, he could see a vast desert sprawled out below—what the hell kinda lifeforms could evolve here? Lifeforms that could speak perfect Colonial, no doubt.

"_Unidentified vessel, stand by for landing. Lower your landing gear. Refuse to comply, and you will be destroyed." _Perseus quickly activated the landing gear control. No sense pissing these frakkers off if they were the same ones responsible for that monster that wiped out the fleet. He could finally see a city of some kind sitting in the middle of the desert, and as the Raptor descended further a landing pad and control tower of some kind soon became discernable among the sea of yellow, about half a klick away from the city.

More worrying metallic noise were forced from the Raptor as it glided down towards the pad and settled onto it, juddering in a way that Perseus wanted to throw up again as it did so. A dust cloud rose as the landing gear made contact with the pad, obscuring his view. The others sat up as voices and footsteps came from outside. His mind filling with all kinds of thoughts as to how the first species the Colonies had made contact with would be like, Perseus opened the back doors and watched.

A few moments later, the doors were open and the dust was settling. A figure stood in the doorway, holding some sort of gun. Perseus tensed, remembering the adventure shows he had watched in his youth about explorers fighting monstrous alien races. He expected something slimy. Bug-eyed. Tentacled. A ridged forehead, at least.

What he got was a human. Wearing a dirty suit of white armor, holding a weird-looking sidearm, unshaved and long-haired, with a pad of some sort in his other hand. Standing behind him was a stony-looking guy in a neater but still grimy uniform, wearing heel-high jackboots and generally looking worryingly like one of those far-right militants he had been hearing about before the Cylon attack. So, not only did these beings speak Colonial, but in defiance of all the astronomical odds they were at least superficially humans. Frak me sideways, he thought.

"Greetings. I am Colonel Radec of Imperial Customs outpost 42. You have committed an illegal violation of restricted space. Your vessel is not registered with the sector consulate. You are probably smugglers, refugees, or maybe even rebel terrorists, judging by your...uniforms. State your names and homeworlds." Snapped the officer in a high-class Caprica accent.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah...first things first. Who are you? Where are we? What's with the rightie uniform? Why..." began Samuel.

"What the hell kinda rock have you been hiding under?" snapped the guy in the armor, in a strange roughneck accent. "You some hippies from one of those rumoured lost colonies? Some death stick-smoking commune that decided to abandon technology, like they talk about on the Holonet? Every damn kid in the Outer Rim should recognize a stormtrooper and an officer of the Galactic Empire when they see one, and give them the appropriate respect!"

"Calm yourself, private Krogan, but nevertheless I support your point." Dozens of thoughts rushed through Perseus' head. Lost colonies? Galactic Empire? Just where had that wormhole, if it was what he thought it was, had taken him?

"Uh...yeah, we really haven't had much know-how on what's happening out there for some time. Could you fill us in?" stuttered Gero, adjusting his glasses.

The officer glanced at his pad "Lie detector indicates you're telling the truth. And, judging by the fact that quite frankly your ship of such a primitive type that Corellian freighters would laugh at it, I suppose you really are from some outer rim commune. Very well, I'll humor you. Over a decade ago, the Republic made the transition into the Galactic Empire, the government that rules this galaxy. Our great Emperor, Palpatine, swept aside the corruption and the disorder that plagued the senatorial administration. We rule this galaxy with iron and order. Millions upon millions of worlds and species answer to us. We possess the most powerful military machine in the galaxy. Do you have any other questions?"

For a moment, the occupants of the Raptor sat in shock.

"What he means is, assholes, is that you ain't in your colony no more. Welcome to the Empire." Said tjhe guy called Krogan, with an evil grin. "Now, if you really are what you say you are, you're going to have to get registered as full Imperial citizens. Oh, and until that time, your craft here will be impounded."

"Wait, wait wait..." It was Kidas. "Millions of worlds and species? You mean...there's more sentient life beyond species out there?"

Both of them gave him a funny look. "You really have been isolated for a while, haven't you?" said Radec pithily. "In any case, you will now accompany me to the customs office for briefing on your situation. You will surrender those weapons I see by your belts. Come now. Co-operate and nothing will happen to you."

Nervously, the Colonials filed out of the Raptor, handing their weapons to Krogan. They were too confused and bewildered to ask more questions, to try and stand against the two guys on this landing pad in the middle of some desert. Not a moment too soon ago they had been the last of their kind in the universe, and now they were faced with this new revelation that they were almost a drop in the ocean. Millions of worlds? A Galactic Empire? With these new thoughts racing through their minds, they shuffled into the small building beside the pad, with a sign beside the door simply reading 'customs and interrogation'.


	3. Chapter III: Induction

Anya Themyscira sat within the dark, humid interior of the 'customs building' they had been herded into, within a small cubicle segregated from the others. One by one, the other guys were shoved through a door and emerged a few minutes later, carrying some papers and looking shaken. Around her she could see tattered posters on the walls, written in various incomprehensible scripts, displaying legions of soldiers clad in white armor, ships like the one that had wiped out the fleet, massive armored vehicles, men clad in the same uniform as that Radec guy. Barely an hour ago she had been on the verge of suicide with the realization that she and the small group of people crammed into that Raptor were all that was left of the Colonies; now, she was struggling to adjust to the fact that she was irrelevant in this new galaxy; what was one person to an Empire that supposedly numbered millions of worlds? She tried not to break down in tears—there was still hope.

"Next!" She saw Kidas emerge from the room, with a blank expression on his face. Guess it's my turn now, she thought. Nervously, she slowly walked over to the door and stepped through it.

There, she found a small room mostly taken up by a large black desk covered in devices she couldn't even begin to guess what purpose they served. Radec was seated behind it, and gestured for her to take a seat.

"Name?" he growled as she did so.

"Anya. Anya Tarl."

"Homeworld?"

"Caprica."

"Just like the homeworlds your friends gave, it's not on my list. The lie detector checks out, though, so I will continue. Age?"

"Twe...twenty-three."

"Occupation?"

"Pilot."

"Of what type of craft? If it's anything like that miserably primitive piece of scrap you flew down in, I won't be too impressed."

"Viper. Viper fightercraft."

"Viper? Never heard of the type. Sounds like an old CIS craft, to be frank. Would you happen to be part of some planetary defence force? Or even worse, Emperor forbid, a subversive movement? Rebels, even?"

"Uh...yeah...my...planetary defence force. The Colonial Military."

Radec chuckled. "So, judging by the statements of you and your friends, you originate from some mysterious 'colonies', who possess interstellar travel and a military of some kind, yet have never seen contact with us or any other previous galactic government on record. Nevertheless, you all seem emphatic that this is the truth, and judging by the laughable level of the technology you have, as well as your blood samples and accents, I may well concede that you are from some obscure wild space government that has evaded detection for years. Now, in order to obtain legal rights here, you will have to become an Imperial Citizen. Your friends have agreed to this; will you?"

"Er...okay."

"Excellent. First of all we need a blood sample." He nodded, and then a robotic arm folded out from behind the temple, with a syringe fixed to it. Anya had already taken medical examinations as part of her induction into the Colonial military, but that robotic thing, and the suddenness with which the colonel had announced it, immediately had her squirming. She tried to sit still as it thrust violently into her skin and filled itself with blood, before retracting.

"There. Now, if you would care to look into this, for an iris imprint..." He gestured a lens-type thing on the table. Anya peered into it, and blinked as it flashed.

"Thank you. Now, your biometric measurements have already been taken in by the instruments on your chair. Voice recording has already been done. To complete this initial process, you will now undertake the Imperial pledge of Allegiance. Stand up." Anya complied, and tried to look stoic as he picked up a black pad and began reading from it.

"Do you solemnly swear to accept your status as a citizen of the Galactic Empire, for the order and justice for which it stands, to our Emperor who maintains order with the welfare of all priority in his heart?"

"Er...I do."

"Do you solemnly swear to remain loyal to our order, to combat any subversive menace with desire to destroy it, to do whatever it takes to maintain the vision of our Emperor?"

"I do."

"Do you solemnly swear to respect the laws and ideals of the Empire, to fight all those who would taint them, to reject all those who would object to them?"

"I...do."

Radec smiled. "Congratulations. You are now a citizen of the Empire in heart. Take this..." He slid over a pad and some papers across the table, "...and you will become a citizen officially too."

"What? But I went through all those measurements...and that pledge..."

"A good Imperial citizen will have upmost respect for the bureaucracy." snapped Radec. "You and your friends will now be taken into town to the Imperial garrison for formal induction. You have been remarkably co-operative so far, so it should proceed smoothly. I'd warn to watch your step, though. This town could get a little rough."

He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture and Anya walked out of the room, clutching the wad of material he had given her to her chest. This Empire didn't sound all that bad—it had humans, order, all the kinds of stuff her parents had always said a decent government should possess. Now all that was needed was to cut through this bureaucratic crap and finally get some information about this weird new galaxy they were in.

**

Samuel kept to the back as that guy in armor who called himself Krogan led them off the platform and towards the town, brandishing a weird-looking but still threatening rifle with no visible magazine and no casing ejector. Now he was wearing a helmet, with black lenses for eyes and a grimace for some sort of a respirator, and he would have almost looked like a minion from some kid's show back at the Colonies were it not for the fact that he was holding a big frakkin' gun and had several sleek-looking grenades—he guessed they were grenades—hanging from his belt.

They finally entered the city as they walked through two buildings—like every other one he had seen, they were primitive looking dwellings, surprising for a civilization with such bizarre technology he had seen before—and noticed some rodent scurrying around in a clump of trash by the wall. The shock of the destruction of the fleet had almost escaped him now, as he took in the sights and smells of this weird new universe. Some of the others didn't seem to be taking it so well—a couple of them still looked like they were about to break into hysterics.

Then he almost stopped. They stepped into a busy street, filled with people milling around—not human people, but...things. Humanoid lizards, men with tentacles coming out of their heads, fish-men, three-legged, multi-limbed freaks. It was just like out of the pages of some science-fiction novel. To his satisfaction, the jaws of the others also dropped. Some small guys in orange robes and hoods scurried around nearby, squeaking to themselves. His mind was struggling to take in all these weird and wonderful creatures—where they sentient? Friendly? What was their culture? Did they all come from just this planet?

"Get a damn move on." Snarled Krogan, his voice filtered to almost unrecognisable distortion through that helmet, as they all stopped to take it in. Jabbing Perseus with his rifle butt, he muttered something as they continued walking on.

There was a low whooshing sound, and he saw what looked like a Colonial Monda XC-V sports car with the wheels removed glide by, hovering a foot above the ground. He could feel the little kid inside him, like the first day he had gone to the science museum, trying to feel, touch, and inquire about everything. How did that work? What was that for? Who was that?

Krogan continued to lead them through the sandy, crowded streets, a few people drawing glances in their direction, but otherwise nobody seemed too interested. Every now and them, a ship of some kind would scream overhead—given the sheer size and firepower of the one that had wiped out the fleet, he wondered how those were like. The first problem was currency, assuming these people even had any—perhaps whoever was at this 'occupation center' would grant them a ship?

"We're almost there." Said Krogan as they turned a corner and began walking up to a grey, angular building in a square—a stark contrast to the round, sandy, organic houses that seemed to make up most of the town. More soldiers in the same armor as Krogan stood on the roof, armed with what looked like pimped-out sniper rifles, with a weird...machine standing in front. It looked like some sort of robotic long-legged chicken, about eight meters high, like some grey box on spindly legs, with a cluster of guns at the 'chin' of the 'head' and what he guessed were grenade launchers to the side. It didn't look very practical, but given that this new situation was clearly millennia ahead of the Colonials, it surely must be superior to normal land vehicles in some respect. Emblazoned on the buildings' bland facade was a circular insignia he had seen back at the customs center—the flag for this Empire, he guessed.

They approached the door, and he saw what looked like some sort of hovering sphere nearby, buzzing to itself—a robot, clearly. The memories of the Cylon war, the anti-AI dogma that had been hammered into his head...he felt uncomfortable. But then again, this civilization must clearly be enlightened enough to have commonplace robotics and no equal to the horror of the Cylon rebellion.

"Step inside, and soon you'll be free to go." Growled Krogan.

"But free to do what?" asked Perseus. "We don't have no money...no idea about this..."

"Not. My. Problem." Snarled Krogan, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately. The door of the building slid open as they approached. "Move in. Remember to present the documents given to you. Sooner you get this over with, sooner you'll be able to go. If in doubt, just hail the Emperor, because you'll be doing a lot of that in the days to come."


	4. Chapter IV: A Little Rough

"Welcome to Mos Eisley Imperial bureaucratic building, sir. Please follow me."

Gero froze at the sight of what was in front of him. A robot. Humanoid, shiny black, with a face like a child's toy, making whirring noises as it moved. He couldn't help but relive the memories of the Cylon war from long ago at the sight of the thing. He remembered the merciless, cold metal Centurions as they had torn the guts out of his comrades, the sheer burning hate in those cyclopean red eyes of theirs. His own father had been killed in the war, his upper body torn to shreds by the heartless metal bastards. And now, this tin man, so much like a Toaster, was asking him to follow it. Trying to keep a neutral face, he complied, walking through a dimly-lit set of offices with uniformed men hunched at monitors.

"I sense increased levels of fear pheromones and blood pressure in some of you." Said the robot again in its cheery, sing-song voice. "There is nothing to concern yourselves about. Just perform these final procedures for citizenship acquisition and you will able to go about your business."

"Er...can I ask you a question?" said Gero hoarsely to the thing.

"Certainly."

"What...are you made for? Who made you?"

"I was manufactured for the purpose of bureaucratic assistance and office management for the Galactic Empire. I was manufactured by Cybot Galactica on the foundry world of Mechis III."

Galactica. The name suddenly made him think of all the poor bastards who had died with the fleet not so long ago—all those smiling, familiar faces that he'd never see again. All those questions he'd wanted to ask and now would never ask. All those families, all those futures, gone, just like that. He wondered if he was doing the right thing, playing along with the people who had so casually wiped out tens of thousands of his fellow Colonials. These people who seemed to have tin men like this thing everywhere he looked.

"Are...there are a lot of your type around?" he began.

"What's the matter? Never seen a droid before?" Another guy in uniform emerged from the shadows, and gestured for them to sit at a desk. "I am lieutenant Viduk, and here you will complete your induction as Imperial citizens. Now..."

"What's that?" said Anya nervously all of a sudden, pointing at a picture on the desk. It was a picture of the death-ship that had wiped out the fleet, or at least one of the same type, being utterly dwarfed by what looked like a much larger version of it, complete with what looked like some sort of cityscape built on it.

"That, my wonderfully ignorant friend, is one of our new super star destroyers. Nineteen kilometres long, and enough firepower to melt the crust off a planet. Now, let's save the irrelevant questions for later, and get on with this."

Nineteen kilometers? Enough firepower to melt a planetary crust? Gero's mind boggled. Not only were these people industrially superior to the Colonies beyond imagining, their ships packed heat that made a Cylon basestar look like a rowing boat. But anyway, he thought, trying to take his mind off such worrying thoughts, once this was all done the priority would be finding money—assuming these people used a recognisable monetary system—and exploring this galaxy. Aside from the robots that made his skin crawl, they clearly had all kinds of brilliant things and wonders that appealed to the inquisitive kid in him. If there were truly millions of inhabited words as he said, they'd get a lifetime's worth of adventure. And all these myriad aliens, straight out of an old sci-fi show—those alone would provide year's worth of reading and study for things. So many things to do in this galaxy, so little time.

"You—pay attention!" Gero snapped back to the uniformed guy, who had been droning on about tax duties or some other type of crap. As he resumed babbling, he once again began thinking of all the many, many things he could do in this new world.

**

Viduk Syll looked upon the tattered, worried-looking group as he droned the same old routine he had been practising. These truly was a strange group—they seemed freaked out by simple droids, they were amazed by little things like holograms, and they didn't seem to recognise Star Destroyers. Apparently, they claimed to be from some remote colonies, which made sense. But as he continued talking, he wondered about their potential for recruitment—from their uniforms and the impounded ship, they were obviously of military type. And coupled with their naivety, it wouldn't take much to induct them into the Rebellion.

Syll had fought years ago in the Clone Wars as a young person. His parents had died fighting on his homeworld, as it was overwhelmed by billions of Separatist droids. Eventually, the droids had shut down, and clone troopers turned up not long after. He had hoped they would restore order, repair the shattered lives of him and the rest of his people. Instead, they had imposed Palpatine's brutal 'new order', imprisoned and intimidated countless, enslaved, and tortured. He had hated the Empire ever since, he had joined the Rebellion as soon as it appeared, and had managed to gain a job among the Imperials on this backwater, relaying any valuable intelligence he could find. The Rebellion needed any person it could get to fight the Empire's seemingly infinite armies, and noting what looked like flight squadron insignias and badges on the uniforms of some of these people, he had decided that it would be worth the effort to induce them in. But first things first.

"Now, just sign here, and you can go." He said, sliding forth some datapads. They signed appropriately, in some weird text he didn't recognize.

"What about money? Information?" asked one of them.

"Money? You can get a job. The Empire is here to provide order and security, and not dole out credits to any schmuck like some namby-pamby liberal state. As for information, just visit one of the tourist bureaus in the town. Actually, considering the amount of tourists this crapball gets, don't bother. Head down to the cantina near here and ask around. We'll be watching you...citizen. Just watch your step. This place can get a little rough. Now go, I've got things to do."

They got up gingerly and filed out. He noticed some of them glancing at the peeling posters on the wall—'THE EMPIRE IS WATCHING YOU'. 'ONE GALAXY, ONE EMPIRE, ONE EMPEROR." He wouldn't be surprised if they were freaked out. As they left, he tapped some instructions into a control pad on his desk to one of the seeker droids—he'd be monitoring them. As soon as he could contact one of his local allies, those people would soon be on the right side.

**

Kidas Anjo walked after the others through the dusty, sandy street, towards some low building next to a junk heap of some kind a distance away. So, this was the new galaxy they had stumbled into—ruled by a fascist 'Galactic Empire', clearly the type not to give a crap about its citizens, the type far-righters back on the Colonies would have dreamed about. Around him, he could see nothing but freakish, disgusting creatures straight out of a comic book and robots shuffling around that brought back documentaries on the Cylons that had given him nightmares as a kid. Of course, he hadn't seen enough of it to make a final conclusion, but he was feeling that this place they had ended up in wasn't much better than what they had left. What a pity he couldn't click his heels three times and get back home—there was, after all, no place like the Colonies.

"The guy said that this was the place..." said Samuel nervously as they walked up to the building. Strange, small hooded creatures sat by the door, speaking to each other in a squeaky, jabbering language. A growling, humanoid-reptilian thing strode out of it, grunting at him. He could barely abide people from some of the other Colonies, and now he would be forced to put up with these disgusting monsters. He wondered what else the powers that be were going to inflict on him.

They walked inside, and he found himself in a bustling, noisy bar of some kind, with big-headed aliens playing catchy, jazzy music in the background. Beings of all different shapes and sizes crowded around the bar, chatting and drinking. He looked around for any humans—he could see a few, including the bartender, passing a drink to what looked like an anthropomorphic mouse.

"No! Mesa sorry that mesa steal yousa wallet! Itsa not happen again! Put the blaster down! No! No!" A shot rang out across the bar as some big-eared amphibian humanoid thing collapsed to the floor nearby. The music and hubbub paused for a moment, before resuming. Kidas tried to look inconspicuous as he began to wonder around. Not only was this place full of freaks, it was the type that made a beer party on the Galactica look like a friendly get-together. He noticed a handsome, rugged-looking guy casually seated at a corner table, beside what looked like a huge furball with eyes, arms and legs.

"What are you looking at, pal?" he said suddenly, before the furball growled at him. "Yeah, now move along before you upset the Wookiee."

Mumbling apologies, Kidas continued. Now he realised just how out of water he and his fellow Colonials were—what these people took for granted were amazing wonders to them. Trying to adjust to this weird world, he feared, would be beyond him—for him, just trying to find somewhere quiet and normal to settle down in would be priority. In such a big galaxy, odds were there surely were some Colonial-like worlds that were also sparsely inhabited. He decided to follow the advice of that guy back at the building and ask someone.

"Excuse me," he said as he walked up to the bar beside to some person with a disfigured nose, "do you know..."

A weird, tusked thing next to the man suddenly roared at him, and he almost felt a wet sensation in his pants. Every frakkin' freak in this place growling and roaring at him—just how did these people live?

"He doesn't like you." Slurred the guy. "I don't like you either. You'd better watch yourself! I have the death sentence on twelve systems!"

"I'll be careful." Mumbled Kidas.

"You'll be dead!"

"Hey, lay off him." Said the bartender, walking over. He turned to Kidas. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah. You see, I need money, and also..."

"Money? I ain't a bank, pal. There are some loan sharks working for the Hutts in town, but you'd better be careful with those. And what's with the uniform? You with the Empire, Rebellion, or some militia?"

"I'm from...a colony."

"Hmm. Well, I certainly haven't seen you around these parts, so I'm guessing you're new here. Ever been to this sector before?"

"Er...no."

"Not very talkative, eh? I heard that a Star Destroyer near here vaped some fleet of vessels that refused to respond to it. You know anything about that?"

Kidas considered for a moment. "No."

"Ah. More reason why you shouldn't piss off the Empire. Man, that Vader makes General Grievous look like an Ewok. You ever been down to Coruscant? I hear...?"

"General who?" asked Kidas. So many questions he had to ask from just that sentence.

"General Grievous? Ever been on a HoloNet terminal? You know, commander of the droid armies? Slaughter of trillions, monster of the Clone Wars?"

Droid armies? So, maybe they did have something similar to the Cylon rebellion after all. He decided not to ask any more questions. Stop himself from looking stupid.

"Oh, yeah him. Now..."

"Hey!" he turned to see Samuel nudging him. "I think I know how we can get money. I've been talking with this guy, who told me about some person named Jabba..."


	5. Chapter V: My Kind of Scum

Samuel looked nervously at the...person...standing beside him on this weird hovering boat-shaped vehicle. The thing looked like some severely deformed human with squinty, beady eyes and leathery skin. He was holding what looked like a futuristic axe—strange for a society that appeared to have guns of some sort. Now, they were skimming through what seemed like an endless desert for hours, with the others sitting huddled at the rear of the vehicle while he stood.

In the cantina, he had been told that some Jabba person was looking for pilots, and would pay generous money. Of course, with the acquirement of such stuff being paramount, and with at least a few guys among the group being pilots, he had decided to take the offer. Of course, he didn't really know who this Jabba was, but he didn't really care, provided he could see this new galaxy and get some cash on the way. It was time to leave the Colonies and memories of the Galactica behind; they had a fresh start, and it was time to make the most of it.

"We be coming to master Jabba place now." Growled one of the things as the terrain grew increasingly rocky, with an imposing, dome-like structure appearing in the distance. Driving up to the entrance, the things manning the skiff herded them off while the large metal door that took up the entrance slowly slid upwards.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting us into?" growled Kidas as they walked into a dimly lit, smelly hall, with unidentifiable things moving in the shadows.

"Hey man, what could go wrong?" Samuel hissed back as they began to walk down. He balked at what looked like an anthropomorphic green warthog dressed in archaic armor and wielding some sort of other melee weapon standing by the wall, grunting at him intrusively. In his mind, he asked himself the same question Kidas had.

After a minute or so of walking through corridor, they began to head down a staircase as jazzy music and whooping became audible. Heading down the stairs, they finally entered a large room with various weird-looking critters playing the said music, and a frakkin' hot alien-woman thing with headtails gyrating on the floor. More aliens crowded around the walls, burbling to each in other in various languages, and he noted some imposing guy in armor and what looked like a rocket on his back standing in a corner with nobody around him.

Then his eyes flicked to the _thing _sitting on a stone slab that took up one side of the room. It looked like some grossly obese slug with arms, eyes and a wide mouth, with another robot standing beside it. Another hot young woman, this one woman, was chained by his side—what he needed her for he didn't want to imagine. Was this the Jabba person?

"Master, we bring...applicants." said the skiff pilot as they were herded into the middle of the room and the music began to play down.

"Ho, ho, ho." Boomed the slug thing, looking at them, and then rumbled something in some barely comprehensible language.

"The mighty Jabba the Hutt asks if you know what your job entails." Said the robot in a flat, calm voice.

"Uh, yeah. You want pilots, right? Well, we're pilots." Said Samuel.

The slug thing laughed again, and said something else.

"The mighty Jabba says that you are indeed pilots, and he wants you for a smuggling mission. He asks if you are up to it." Translated the robot

"Er...yeah. Yeah, I guess." Said Samuel nervously, speaking before he could think it through properly.

Jabba rumbled another few sentences.

"The mighty Jabba says that this is fortunate. Some of his best smugglers have not been proving their worth lately. He would like to warn you that your mission will entail avoiding heavy Imperial patrols and his own business rivals."

Samuel could almost see the quote marks around 'business rivals'. "Yeah, we cool with that. Are you gonna provide a ship?"

The Hutt laughed. "You are supposed to be smugglers and pilots, but yet you lack a ship?"

"Oh, we got a ship, but it's kinda impounded, and it's probably sort of scrappy compared to what you've got."

Again, the fat slug chuckled. "The mighty Jabba has decided to provide you a ship, but reminds you that all maintenance and damage costs will be subtracted from your contract. He would also like to remind you that should you fail this mission, he will expect you to repay all losses incurred. Should you also fail that, your life will be forfeit. You understand?"

"Uh, yeah."

"The mighty Jabba has concluded that we are agreed. You will now be taken to the ship that he has kindly agreed to provide..."

**

Perseus tensed as they were led through another set of corridors. Just what the frak had Samuel gotten them into? Had he just decided to make himself leader of the group? Certainly, the others seemed too tired, traumatized, and exhausted to protest. And at least they'd be seeing some of this galaxy, even if the risks in this venture seemed a bit too obvious even for him.

"There she is." Said a strikingly pretty young woman in brown leather overalls and a general look that seemed like she had stepped out of some space cowboy film, as they stepped into a large mud hangar. What was it with that Jabba thing and hot chicks?

"My name's Jeni." She continued as she gestured at the ship in the middle of the hangar. Perseus almost vomited at the sight of it. It looked like it was cobbled together from spare model parts and scrap metal. A freighter looked more spaceworthy than this. Were they really trading the Raptor for this piece of junk?

"What a piece of junk!" he found himself exclaiming.

"You watch your mouth, bub, or you'll find yourself floating home!" she snapped. "Anyway, I'm going to be your engineer and if necessary co-pilot on this trip. We'll be smuggling three tons of fresh spice and treasure along an old Trade Federation route. This ship, by the way, is the _Solar Venture, _an YT-2400 I managed to get cheap. Han Solo himself managed to teach me a few tricks in modification."

"Is it fast?" asked Samuel, gesturing at the vaguely saucer-shaped thing.

"Bub, this thing is almost _Millennium Falcon _fast. I got my stuff from some of the best in the business. So then," she continued, stuffing some sort of cigarette into her mouth, "you're supposed to be pilots. What's your background?"

"Military. We come from some...colonies."

"Military, huh? Well, your clothes certainly seem to confirm that. Any specific craft."

"Er...Raptors and Vipers."

"Never heard of 'em. Anyway, if you guys are ready, come on aboard."

A shrill beeping came out of nowhere, and then what looked like some motorized cross between a dustbin and a mailbox trundled from behind some crates.

"Oh, and this is my astromech, R4-X6. He'll be of some help, hopefully."

"A robot?" said Gero nervously.

"Yeah, a droid. Why you're looking so spooked for? Never been on a civilized planet before?"

"Well...there's not many of these things from where we come from. Sorta."

"Cute. Now, get aboard, and start the engines. If you're what you say you are, handling a YT will be like playing a holo-game."

Perseus immediately began to fret as they walked towards a ramp in the ship. It had just occurred to them that nobody here was really qualified to fly one of these things. What the hell had Samuel been thinking? Had the destruction of the fleet screwed up his mind?

Inside the rusty ship, they ducked through some circular corridors, the exposed wiring and pipes worrying him a bit. For how advanced this civilization looked, they didn't seem as clean as, say, the Galactica. Entering a cockpit, Samuel and Gero took their seats in the forward part as they studied the controls.

"You two can tell what this crap does?" asked Anya.

"Sorta. It looks familiar, and I can pretty much guess..."

"Yeah, well make sure you don't press a self-destruct thing or something..."

"So, people, we ready to smuggle some spice for ol' Jabby back there?" said Jeni as she strode in.

"Uh, I guess. Just remind me, because, y'know, I'm not exactly familiar with this exact model, how do you start it?" asked Gero.

"Press that button. Y'know, the one that says 'start' in big letters." She said, gesturing at a large button with some incomprehensible writing beside it.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Y'know, desert planet, and the heat..." sighed Gero as he flicked the button and a humming noise began to escalate from somewhere in the ship. Carefully pushing a control, Samuel began to make the ship rise up and out of the hangar, and into the sky. Perseus uttered a prayer to the gods, and hoped this would all turn out well.


	6. Chapter VI: Like Dusting Crops

Gero held onto his stomach as the craft accelerated into space, although with surprisingly less g-force than he had expected. Clearly they had perfected those inertial dampeners some of his tech friends had been talking about. In any case, the controls had been much more simple and intuitive than he imagined—almost like a vid-game.

"Alright—head into the right orbital vector and I'll put in the computers." Said that smuggler chick.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He said as they finally left the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Flying this thing was like a dream—it made a Viper look like a shopping trolley.

A light on the console before began beeping.

"We've got incoming comms. Probably Mos Eisley traffic control." He sighed, flicking a button.

"..._destroyer Expunger. You have no authorization to leave this system. Power down and prepare to be boarded or be shot down." _Gero almost vomited as he noticed a wedge-shaped mass approaching—the same ship that had wiped out the fleet, or at least the same time.

"Oh, frak." He muttered. The others expressed similar sentiment.

"What are you waiting for? Gun it! It's a Star Destroyer, not a Jedi starfighter!" shouted the woman.

"But...those guns...it can..." stammered Gero.

"You say you're a pilot, and you've never tangled with ISDs before?" gasped the woman in exasperation.

"_You have failed to comply. We are opening fire._"

"Throw up jamming! That'll kriff up their targeting systems a bit!" said the woman.

"Which button's that?"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" she pressed a button as green bolts the size of freighters shot around them as the space between them and the Star Destroyer, as the chick called it—an appropriate name as any—narrowed rapidly.

"Get us into a good spot and jump into hyperspace before they get a tractor lock on us!"

"Uh, yeah." He tried flying around it so that it's rear was pointing at them—didn't seem to be many guns there. Suddenly, smaller bolts shot over them, and he noticed two very strange things heading towards them. Both of them constituted of a small sphere with two large panels to the side of said sphere, attached via metallic stubs. Streaking over them, the two things began encircling them like flies around a fungi.

"TIEs! Jump now, damn it!"

"Which button's that?"

"What the hell kinda flying school did you graduate from?" she snarled as she flicked a switched. There was a pitched whining sound as the stars visible before them elongated into streaks, and then the craft shot forward as it hurtled beyond lightspeed. Eventually, the starscape before them distorted into a blue vortex.

"Whoah." Uttered Gero.

"You don't know how to handle an ISD, identify basic controls, and you're surprised by hyperspace?" said the woman, eyeing him.

"Well...the craft we're used to are...different."

"And what craft would that be? Skyhoppers? Sleeper ships?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Something like that, I'd suppose. Anyway, we're we headed?"

"You didn't recognize the co-ordinates? Just where the hell have you been hiding under all your life?"

"Okay, so we're a bit out of the picture. Humor us."

"Fine. We're headed to Coruscant, but we'll be stopping off at Nar Shaddaa, Alderaan and Naboo on the way back, provided nothing happens."

"Coruscant, eh? Heard a lot about it." Lied Gero. "Never been, though. Have you?"

"Several times. Parents dragged me down to watch parades and visit the old Jedi temple a few times. Impressive the first time, though. Our hotel complex was a few kilometers high..."

Visible looks of shock appeared on the faces of some of the others. The women gave them a strange look.

"Sheesh, I suppose you people really do fit the mould of your Outer Rim hick." She said. "Still, as long as Jabba's paying."

"So...where are you from?" asked Anya.

"Born on Corellia. Father was a pilot from the Clone Wars. Mother was a freighter pilot. Didn't take long for me to get into the business."

"What's our cargo?"asked Perseus.

"Spice, death sticks, credits...the usual stuff." It was then that an alarm came from the console. She moved over and checked it.

"Ah...looks like one of those TIEs got a glancing shot on our aft. Let's see how this develops..."

**

Captain Rammstein once again stood on the bridge as his Star Destroyer assumed position at the same location where that fleet had appeared. Yet another anomaly was appearing, and he had been given strict orders not to blow up whatever came through. That was a pity—rarely did he get to blow anything apart, apart from some smartass smugglers who thought that it would be funny to play chicken with a ship of the Imperial fleet.

"Captain." Announced one of the crewmen. "We are getting a bipolar modulation of synchronised tachyon bursts corresponding to the trans-molecular wavelength of the continuum-fractal anomaly that..."

"Officer," said Rammstein slowly, "do you actually know what you're talking about, or are you just spewing random words you picked up from a tech manual to make yourself sound smart."

"I...no, I don't know what I'm talking about, sir."

"Thought so. Now what's happening? In Basic."

"Something's coming out."

"There. Wasn't so hard, was it? Now, let's see what visitors we get this time. Turbolasers charged, just in case."

A mass emerged from the swirling purple thingy several kilometers ahead. It was some weird, organic, vaguely starfish-like conveyance—a type of vessel he hadn't seen before. This he wouldn't blow up.

"Scans complete. No shields, no hyperdrive, armament consists of primitive nuclear weapons. Similar to the last anomaly we encountered." Reported a crewman.

"We get signal." Announced another. "It's from someone calling themselves...Number Six..."


	7. Chapter VII: A Small Operation

As the _Solar Venture _hurtled through hyperspace, Samuel sat in a small chamber within, at a circular checkerboard-colored table lined with buttons. So many more questions, so much to ask—from what he could tell, this ship was unbelievably fast by Colonial standards. The woman in the cockpit had told him that such ships could travel the galaxy in hours—it took colonial ships _years. _All this technology just made him want to tear it open just to see how the innards looked like, to satisfy his inner engineer.

Looking down at the buttons, he decided to press one—there couldn't be any risk, he gathered, they surely wouldn't link vital systems to this thing. To his surprise, a 3D holographic image of a dark-skinned woman in a bad pink wig popped up.

"I know you're searching for me. Searching, searching. I am here" she purred. "My voice is for you alone. I am found in your eyes only. I exist for you. I am in your mind as you create me. Oh, yes... I can feel my creation. I'm getting your message. Are you getting mine?"

Samuel quickly pressed the button and it vanished. Shivering, he decided never to think of that experience again. Pressing another button, he jumped as some sort of holographic logo appeared in front of him.

"Welcome to HoloNet Channel SBA!" An enthusiastic female voice exclaimed. "Please select your sub-channel."

Hesitantly, Samuel pressed another button. The logo was replaced with several neatly arranged thumbnail images in front of him, and then in turn by a picture of some ridge-headed man in glasses who appeared to be some sort of newsreader.

"Hello there, and welcome to the See'van Kolbehr show!" he exclaimed. "Today we'll be studying the rebel attack on a KDY facility near Naboo, and I must say, I fully support those rebbies in killing thousands of innocent personnel! You hear that, Mon Mothma! We're behind you!" This was met by a laughter track. Clearly a parody of something, he guessed.

"Hey!" The woman had entered the room silently, causing Samuel to jerk in shock. "Yeah, you. We've got a problem---get your ass to the cockpit."

Following her, Samuel hit his head on the cockpit doorframe as he entered. The others were there, looking grim.

"I'm afraid that thanks to mister expert pilot here, our hyperdrive needs some basic repairs. Nothing too major, thank the maker. Thankfully, there's a place where we can land to fix it. I know some guys who hang out there."

"What's this place called?"

"Cloud City. On planet Bespin?"

"Is it...literally in the clouds?" asked Anya. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you're from some Outer Rim dump, but still...yeah, it is. Built by some rich Corellian loony, I think. Suspended in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant—there's a big Tibanna gas extraction operation going there. Beautiful place, especially if you need somewhere to chill from the Empire."

A beeping came from the cockpit dashboard.

"Ah—you see, we're almost there already. It'll just take a few hours, tops..."

**

A few minutes later, the small freighter was gliding through the thick atmosphere of a huge gas giant, passing by several huge platforms covered in containers, hanging suspended in the atmosphere. How they were staying up there was beyond Samuel—he didn't feel any other changes in gravity.

"We've got company." Sighed the woman as suddenly several strange aircraft appeared out of nearby clouds—linked orange pods, with dual cockpits. The ship shook slightly as they fired warning shots over its bow.

"Frak this! They're firing at us!"spat Gero.

"You—get on the comms, try and sweet-talk them. That sorta stuff ain't my thing." Said the woman firmly, gesturing at Samuel. Slowly walking over, he spoke into the grille she was indicating.

"Er, hi. Listen, we're just a bunch of guys...and our hyperdrive thing is busted, and we wanna repair it at your sky city or whatever you call it..."

"_Who the hell are you? State your identification code!"_

"Listen, we're from Jabba, and, er, oh frak..." He closed his eyes as the others brought their palms to their faces.

"_Jabba? Well, why didn't you say so! You're expected. Please follow us to landing pad 1138."_

Samuel looked up as the woman took the controls and followed the craft through the vast expanse of cloud. A few moments later, a massive platform was looming up in the distance—a huge, vaguely mushroom-shaped mass with a cityscape atop it, suspended in the air. At this point, Samuel couldn't even generate any erudite thoughts regarding it or its nature. All he could do was breath: "Wow."

As they got closer, he could see many other smaller ships coming and going from the massive structure—and of course, utterly dwarfed by it. Descending, the _Venture _began to pass through sleek, curved towers that made the architecture of Caprica look like something a three-year old with crayon would design. Flying vehicles and other craft glided around them like insects, and monorails shot past like bullets. The whole thing was like something out of the dream of some utopianism-covered dream of some overly idealistic science fiction author back home—except better.

Settling in to land on a platform jutting out of the side of one of the vehicles, the ship's engines and systems quietly died down to silence. The woman gestured for them to follow as she led them out of the cockpit, down a ramp and onto the pad. The air felt oddly strange—cold and yet pleasing, with a tinge of some smell he couldn't identify. Looking before him, Samuel saw two small lines of uniformed guards, with a gaunt-looking bald man with headphone-like things on his ears and a dark-skinned man in a blue suit standing before him.

Samuel decided that the one with the headphones was the controller—after all, you'd need some augmentation to administrate a place like this, with all this technology.

"Hello there." He said in his friendliest, most confident tone. "You would be the administrator of this facility?"

"Uh, no." Said the dark-skinned guy suavely. "That would be me."

"My name's Lando Calrissian." He continued. "I heard you mooks are from Jabba. Well, let's hear what he's got to say, and no, I'm not holding Han. This time."

"We just need a new hyperdrive." Said Samuel pleadingly. The woman rolled her eyes.

"That it, huh? Well, I guess Jabba don't want no delays in his runs, am I correct? Well, don't worry. I'll have my men fix it. But on the condition that you lose some money at Sabbacc at my casinos here." He winked, before sliding up to the woman. "Hello, what have we here?"

"Lando, clear off, or I'll get Boba Fett himself on your ass." She said playfully with a smile.

"Alright, my lady." Grinned Lando. "Please, follow me this way..."

**

From a nearby rooftop, a figure in battered green armor observed. The people alongside that smuggler woman were strange—their uniforms were not like anything he'd ever seen before, and they seemed pretty taken aback by the scenery around them. Given their proximity to her, they were either rookie stooges for Jabba, slaves been smuggled, or just passengers being scammed into an overpriced trip to Coruscant. In any case, the Vigo would certainly want some information on these newcomers.

Putting aside his binoculars, Boba Fett got up and prepared to head down to observe these strange people more closely...

**Authors note: **If anyone's been unfortunate enough to see the godawful Star Wars holiday special, they'll get the main in-joke here. ;)


	8. Chapter VIII: Beginner's Luck

"Welcome to the Heaven Casino, the jewel in Cloud City! Come, and try your luck at the finest quality sabacc facilities in this half of the galaxy! Or, if that's not your thing, we've got Pazaak, Coruscanti roulette, and others! So why not come in, and try it?"

Gero took a step back as what appeared to be a three-dimensional image of a strikingly attractive woman spoke to him as he walked up to the entrance of what that Lando fellow had told him and the others to spend some time out while the ship was fixed. Inside, he could see yet more aliens, all shapes and sizes, milling around tables, with more holographic women gyrating in the background. Robots—or droids, as they seemed to be called—were present everywhere. At bars. Dealing cards. Cleaning the floors. Damn, their mere presence made him uncomfortable.

"Come on!" said Samuel, leading them in. "Might as well try and kick back here. Everyone meet here in half an hour. Okay?"

The others nodded, walking into the casino and dispersing. Nervously, Gero walked in, with various eyes of differing color and size turning his direction, as strange pulsing music played in the background. Reptile things, insect things, things he couldn't describe...he wondered if he was ever going to used to all these colourful things.

"You're a strange-looking fellow." Rasped a gravelly voice behind him. He turned around to see a man clad entirely in armor, with a helmet dominated by a T-shaped visor, and some sort of strange backpack. "Why not have a game? I've always liked trying new people, and I've got a table specially reserved."

He gestured at a nearby table, with a group of guys hurriedly moving away from it.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess." Was this how people asked to play card games in this strange galaxy, he wondered as he followed the armored man to the table.

"So, what's your name?" he asked as another damn robot began distributing cards.

"Boba. My backpack's got jets." He said casually. "You know how to play sabacc?"

"Not really, no."

"You must come from some backward place, then. It's like this: At the beginning of each round, each player contributes an ante to the hand pot which goes to the person with the winning hand at the conclusion of that round of play. Similarly, at the start of each round, players also contribute an ante to the sabacc pot, which can only be won by a player who's winning hand is either a pure sabac, which holds a value of either 23 or -23, with the former trumping the latter, or by holding an Idiot's Array, a hand containing a card called The Idiot, worth zero, a Two of any suit, and a Three of the same suit. When laid out on the table, an Idiot's Array is read, literally, as 023, and is considered the highest hand in the game, trumping even a pure sabacc of 23. A win with any of those three special hands will give that player both the hand pot and the sabacc pot, and is typically seen as the end of gameplay for a single game. Got that?"

"No."

"Thought so. Let's just roll; best way to learn is to play."

**

Looking around, Anya found herself immensely nervous surrounded by all these freaks, robots, and holographic women pole dancing, with all these eyes constantly looking at her. She had last seen that woman from the ship fraternizing with that Lando man, and now, split up from the others, she found her hands shaking. With that, she walked up to a bar.

"What can I get you, ma'am?" For frak's sake. Another robot.

"Er…cold water."

"Coming right up. Don't worry, first two drinks are on the house."

That was pleasing to know. As the robot served up a drink, she took a look over her shoulder. Samuel was playing cards with a strange man in armor. Kidas was entering a booth of some kind, and she glimpsed another holographic woman inside that. What a perv. Perseus was watching another game of some kind, and Thescera was nowhere to be seen. At least they seemed to be getting pretty well with all these.

"Preeeeety!" she gasped as some three-eyed monstrosity sat down next to her. "You come me! Hotel! Pay good credits!"

"Frak off!" she screamed, giving him a powerful kick that knocked him off the chair, causing him to knock over a glass that shattered. All eyes diverted towards her as the music stopped.

"You make me angry!" he snarled. "No like angry! Get her!"

Several more ugly freaks strode over to here as she sat there, stunned with horror. Then, someone banged loudly on a table. It was the armored man.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I don't think that woman's done anything wrong."

"Fett!" said the three-eyed thing. "You! Stay out!"

"Not inclined to, sorry."

"Fine then. Boys, get him!"

The men advanced on the armored man, who calmly stood there, as if assessing him. Then, flames shot out of the end of his backpack and he shot forward, slamming into one of the thugs and sending him flying against the wall. Two more ran towards him, only for him to activate his flamethrower and spin in a 360 degree angle, roasting them both.

As the others drew guns, he ducked behind a table just before they opened fire, shooting out what looked like bolts of energy. Then, he shot out from cover with his jetpack, almost hitting the ceiling, and gunned them down with his own gun in what seemed like an instant. The last one produced a larger gun, only for him to fire more bolts from his wrist, vaporizing a large hole in his chest. With that, he settled, before walking up to the cowering three-eyed thing.

"Not while I'm around. Okay?"

"Y-yes." And with that he scurried out of the casino. The music resumed playing and everyone continued with what they were doing as robots began to clear up the mess.

"Thanks." She called to the armored man.

"My pleasure." He growled. She paused. Was it her, or was that voice incredibly sexy?"

**

"Sorry about that." Said the Boba man as he took his seat at the table. "Now, shall we continue? I believe it's your turn."

"Of course." Said Samuel, still in awe of what had happened. "Say, what's your profession?"

"I travel a lot." He said cryptically. "Now draw."

Samuel threw down his cards. Several beings watching gasped.

"Well, well, well." Growled Boba. "Idiot's Array. Congratulations, you've won. Beginner's luck."

"Er, thanks. Good game."

"My pleasure too. I hoped you've learned something from this game, because I certainly have…"


End file.
